World War Two
by randomly-placed-herbs
Summary: He hated war, what does anyone really end up gaining from it? Death, sadness, hate? This was all his fault, he should've known that his naive friend would have followed him down to hell. Done by a request from a friend.
1. Chapter 1

The night was freezing, much colder compared to all the other nights out under the stars on the battlefield. An image flashed through the personification of Deutschland's mind, one of a bloody and beaten man. Germany couldn't help but cringe at the mere thought of his friend, no…his _best _friend, as nothing more then a bloodstain on the ground, kicked and spat on, like he was lower then the dirt on the ground. The personification of Repubblica Italiana, or North Italy, was very child like, innosent. He just wanted to help Germany, help pay him back for his hospitality during the First World War. If he had known that having Italy on his side would result in ..._this_, he never would've followed his bosses orders. Oh _God _no. Then again, back in the beginning, he didn't know that he would grow so fond of the little twarp.

Oh how he lothed wars, what do you really end up gaining? Hundreds of thousands of soldier and civilian casualties? Or perhaps a deeper rage towards a country and their people? But he is Germany, he has to fight, he _has_ to win. Just because he has no choice in whether or not he could fight, that doesn't mean he can't hate war, he dispised wars. The First World War was a loss, and as a result, he had been humiliated. He couldn't have that happen again, he was a solider, and not just that, one with pride. No matter what... he needed to continue to fight, continue to win like he has been lately. But in the back of his mind, there that image was. That simple reminder that he can try all he wants, he can pretend nothing is wrong and go on like this really is just nothing more then another obstacle in his path, and that the world isn't going to hell, but that doesn't change the reality. They're in a war, and there's nothing anyone can do except go out on that battlefield and prey to whomever their deity may be.

Did he have hope? Sure. Even a fool can keep going off hope. That hope is probably the hardest thing to hold onto though. Hate. He was filled to the brim with hate and bloodlust. Hate is the easiest thing to hold onto, he truly did believe that. Those damn Allies were the reason that his poor and sweet Italy wasn't waking up. No, he wasn't dead, his Italy was alive. He's just sleeping, resting. Germany would like to blame it all on the Allies, but he can't. Such conflicting feelings...

The one thing that stops him from completely hating the Allies is that one thought, that he couldn't help but think constantly about it whenever the injured Italian would come into his mind. _I would've done the same thing to one of theirs_. And right now he wished he could, to make them feel the pain the Axis had gone through. It was partly his fault anyways. He had told the naïve Italian to stay away…he should've known that dummkopf would've followed him down to hell.

_Blood, so much blood on this damn battlefield._ Germany thought as he shot short bursts of bullets out of his weapons, hitting an Allies soldier in the neck. Although a few of his men had died as a result of the surprise attack so far, he still kept his head held up high, remaining calm, and commanding in a strong voice one would expect from the man. _The morning had been so nice too. If you had looked at this scene hours ago, you might have just stopped and stared in amazement. The flowers that littered the ground were bright and smelled so sweetly; the sun was just barely hung up over the horizon. _He was almost hit in the skull by the butt of an Allies weapon, but he caught it quickly, and disarmed the enemy soldier by using his elbow to knock the weapon out of the mans hand, tossing his own primary weapon to the side._ How had this man gotten so close without me noticing? _He then went the man and taking his right arm, quickly bending it back, dislocating it and twisting it slowly, almost sadistically. The man was obviously in pain as he was hissing and biting his lips to keep from screaming out. "_Listen here_." Germany spoke in broken English. It had been so long since he had needed to use his English, he was a bit rusty. The soldier froze, paralyzed in fear, his eyes wide; like he was a deer in the headlights, which now, he might as well be. Germany took out his secondary weapon, a small 9mm, out of his legs holster and aimed the barrel straight at the enemy soldiers left temple. "_Say hello to all of my soldiers up there_." He spoke ruthlessly in his native tongue. The soldiers shocked brown eyes widened before he closed them, mere milliseconds before the German man pulled the trigger, muttering a silent prayer. But he was used to this. It didn't affect him, the routine was so common now he didn't even have to think about it anymore. He could easily kill every single one of the Allies soldiers, and he would feel nothing. He never felt anything. Did this make him a cold hearted killer? No, he did what he had to do for his country, for him. And if this meant he had to kill, then he will continue as long as he needs too. In the end it doesn't matter, whether he wins or loses, everyone will suffer because of World War Two.

This surprise attack was to be expected, after all, they were in a war. How many hours of fighting has it been? Germany had lost count long ago. He hid behind a semi-large rock, slowly assessing the situation. He needed to start falling back; as much as he hated to admit it…he was slowly losing this battle. His hair was a mess, it fell lose from it's normal glossed back look, and now it kept getting into his eyes, partly blinding him and making it difficult to keep shooting. Despite this though, he stood up and ran to where about three of his soldiers were hiding, regardless. A loud boom was heard about forty feet away him, as he had paused near a large tree, the very tree which only hours ago his army had been carving into. It was a sharp pain onto his forehead made him jump back in surprise, aiming his gun wildly in every direction in alarm, but he could see no one. His ears rang and his head seemed to swim with dizziness. The man that was standing about twenty feet away from him fell down on his back, his leg seemed to have blown right off, and was no where to be seen. There were small gashes into his stomach and side. He could feel the drops of blood run down his forehead, but at the moment, he didn't care. Tears stung in the corners of the German mans eyes as he quietly observed his fellow soldiers intestines beginning to fall out of his sides in a bloodied mess right next to him. _Grenades. _He thought looking at the man who, again, just hours ago, was laughing and bullshitting around with him while they drank a few cups of beer. _May God rest his soul…_ It had been a frag grenade, when it had exploded, small pieces of steel had explodes out with it, claiming yet another victim of this accursed war.

"_Germany! Germany!_" A loud and panicked prolonged shriek was heard to the right of him, the opposite direction from where his fallen comrade now laid. But he barely heard it between the ringing in his ears and the burst of firearms from the ongoing battle.

"…_Italy!_" Germany yelled out in realization, running blindly in the direction of the noise, nearly tripping over the roots that had grown into the ground. This whole area was like a maze, everything looked the same, tree after tree. Next was a gunshot, but that wasn't from the battlefield, that was in the direction that Italy's shriek was from. He ran, ran as fast as his tired body would take him. The battle was beginning to take its toll on Germany, but he would never admit that, He needed to be strong, stay strong. His country, his boss, Japan, and most importantly, _Italy_, needed him to. As he got to a clearing, he witnessed a sight that made his blood boil. Three of the Allies, America, England, and Russia were standing over a trembling and crying Italy. He was covered in blood, and…shot in the shoulder. The trio was covered in blood, cackling as they repeatedly kicked and spat on the downed Italian. Germany guessed Italy had either passed out or… because he had stopped moving. Russia threw his arms back, his pipe in his hand, ready to repeatedly bash Italy's skull in when Germany shot Russia's hand, causing him to drop his pipe and clench his fist in pain. But that demented smile never left his face. They all had crooked grins on. "_You…Fucking bastards!_" He screamed at the top of his lungs, grinding his teeth and clenching his fist around his machine gun to stop himself from completely losing his grip on his anger.

"_Why do you even care about him? He's pathetic, weak." _England claimed with a cold smirk before giving another hard kick to Italy's side. Germany looked at his white knuckles holding his machine gun up.

"_It's true he isn't the strongest, or the smartest, but he is my friend, not only that but he's my best friend! I love him! How dare you bastards think you can harm him!_" Germany's finger around the trigger tightened slightly.

"_That's the beauty of this all,_" England began, chuckling like he had fell off the deep end. "_We're in a war, damn it. Only those who are strong survive, the weak are in no position to fight. Italy… was very easy to take down. You know, Germany, you've grown soft, and that… will be your downfall. When the smoke clears, that's when everyone will see who is left standing, I hope for the sake of the world that that wont be you._" Finally he had heard enough, his anger blinded him as he shot at the Allies. England and America were hit, America on his left shoulder, and England in the leg, Germany didn't know if any other bullets had hit the pair, and quite frankly, he didn't give two shits about them now. Russia was already running away, he began when he saw Germanys finger first pull the trigger, and was too far ahead of the pair to receive anymore damage. Once they were gone, the German dropped his weapon to the ground and ran over to his best friend. He fell to his knees; his green standard issue military pants were slowly absorbing the thick red liquid that was pooled around the Italian. A quiet sob choked him as his throat felt like it was closing. His mouth felt dry as he tried to think of words to say to his badly beaten friend, even though he knew the Italian couldn't hear him.

"_You…you fool. I told you to stay. God damn it, I told you!_" His voice cracked as he clenched his fist, hitting it into the red earth, causing a slight splashing. There was so much that he had seen, so much that he had done. He had taken it all in with nothing more then apathetic emotions and possibly a tear in his eye, but this…this was it. He couldn't take it anymore. It was the final straw. This was different; it was so much more different. When you're on the battlefield, surrounded by people, they're faces you don't recognize, people you've never seen, it all just blends in. They're nothing, a nobody to you. You don't know them, you've never met them, seeing them die in front of you isn't as much of a stab in the heart. But when it's someone you know, it changes, it changes so quickly. This, this is how war is, unfortunately_. War_…that accursed word. Why, why couldn't there just be peace? Why did so many people have to suffer? Over what? Land? Money? Power? It is all truly worth it in the end? _No_…it will never be worth it.

"_Why wasn't I stricter, why didn't I just lock you up? I knew something like this would happen... Oh Italy._" He choked out again. His tears ran down his cheek and soon his chin, dripping onto Italy's ghostly pale face, helping wipe some of the dirt, dried tears and blood that was caked onto his face. "_Italy…_" He lowered his head down, feeling a cool drop of water roll down his neck. The sky was a light grey color, small rain drops fell down from the heavens. It was as if the sky itself felt pity towards the young Italian man. Germany carefully helped the young man sit up, and held Italy in his arms, holding him close to his chest. He didn't even notice that his clothes were becoming even more bloodstained then before. Germany tightened his grip on his friend, bringing Italy's face up to the crook of his neck as he let more tears out, sobbing loudly. He looked up at the sky, the sounds of gunfire had stopped, and there was nothing more then silence. "_Italy!_" He finally yelled out into the silence of the seemingly dead battlefield.

He has thought about that so many times now, replaying it over and over again inside his mind. He was a wreck. It had been months…many months since he had found Italy, beaten to near death. They got him medical attention, but he had lost so much blood, and suffered so much damage to his head. The doctor had told him that his friend would be in a coma and that even if he wakes up, he might not even be the same person because of the damage he had sustained to his head. How long has it really been? Germany didn't know for sure. The days just seemed to blend together, everyday it was the same thing. Fight, kill, eat, sleep, and repeat. He didn't understand why this was continued though; it was painfully obvious they were going to lose. Russia was closing in onto them. Soon they would lose this war, like they had lost the first one.

"_This is really it…So this is how it ends…_" Germany thought bitterly. It was May 7th, 1945… the day that Germany surrendered to the Allies. This only meant that he would go back to his Italy… as a failure. But it wouldn't matter anyway. It wasn't like Italy was waking up any time soon. He walked towards the hospital tiredly. He had grown thinner, and frail. He had started to eat less and less, his sadness affecting his appetite. He tried to eat, he did, but every time he would remember the carefree Italian who always seemed to have a plate of pasta present, then he would reject the food and spend his eating time grieving alone, away from anyone and everyone. He was a mess. Under his eyes were blue bags, he hadn't been sleeping well either. As he entered the white room he sighed, he had been doing that a lot lately…

It was eleven o'clock and the light was off, the only light was the moon that was lit through the thin white curtains. He looked at Italy, who was lying there so peacefully. He was sat up and was supported by about three pillows, his white blanket covered him up to his stomach, his blue hospital gown looking so odd and out of place on him. The light moonlight made him appear luminescent, and so perfect. Italy was in the same position he was in the last time Germany had seen him, and the time before that, and the time before that. It was disgusting, he had so many tubes attached to him; it really bothered Germany. He knew Italy would be freaking out and crying, more then usual, because there were needles. Only he knew about Italy's tremendous fear of needles. As cowardly as the nation was, he didn't really want anyone knowing about this fear; he said that everyone else already thinks he's cowardly enough. Germany respected that.

"So, this is it." Germany said quietly with a long sigh, pulling a chair next to where Italy lay on the twin sized hospital bed. "Well, we lost to the Allies, this war is over. I-I tried so hard to fight for you, to avenge what happened. It seems I have failed. This wouldn't be the first time I failed you though. This is all my fault... Sorry it's been so long since I last came to visit, I had to go out on the battlefield and… also sign the document saying that we surrendered." He looked at Italy's calm face, huffing in frustration. "Damn it Italy, I miss you. Why don't you wake up? I never thought I'd miss you being annoying, or waking me up in the night for those silly reasons, or asking me if I want pasta at the randomist times. They say you don't know what you have until you lose it? I'm beginning to realize that's one of the truest expressions. I know I told you I would never leave you, but I don't think I can handle everything going on. I'm tired, just so tired." He pulled out his 9mm handgun and cocked it, placing it up to his right temple. "I truly am sorry for everything that has happened… I can only hope that you will forgive me for this some day." He paused, and breathed out a shaky breath. He closed his eyes and began to think for a few seconds, think about all of the events that had led up to this. To be honest he had been thinking about doing this for awhile now, taking his own life. Maybe it would be best if Germany vanished, after all the pain and destruction his boss had caused throughout the war…all those lives that were ruined…because of him, Germany. He now sees that it was him…it was all him the entire time. All the other countries were now avoiding him, whispering how he was a Nazi bastard. He tried not to listen to them, but it stabbed his heart to know that because of his boss's actions, they now avoid him. To make matters worse, he hasn't talked to Japan in months. He wouldn't be surprised if Japan thought he was a coward for surrendering. Without his fellow Axis members, he felt so alone, so exposed. No one would miss Germany; he's nothing more then that Nazi _bastard_.

"Germany! You have to promise me that whatever happens, you'll come back to me! I don't want to see you hurt either! Why do you look sad? I'm sorry if I said something to make you sad please don't be sad! I'm sorry!" His eyes widened as he gasped and opened his eyes, loosening his grip on the gun. A tear rolled down his cheek as he processed what he had heard. That was what Italy had said to him shortly before he left for battle, which was the last thing Italy had said to him. The gun fell out of his hand and clattered to the ground and fell under the bed. He looked at the still sleeping Italy and raised the palm of his hand to wipe the sweat form his brow. Was he hallucinating? Was he really _that _sick? "Please come back to me Germany…" Italy's voice whispered.

"I-Italy…" His vision began to blur. The room looked as if it was spinning, and soon enough, his eyes were shutting by themselves. "I won't leave you…ever…I love…you." He finally collapsed onto his chair, laying his head in his arms on the foot of the hospital bed, beyond exhausted.

The auburn haired nation slowly opened his eyes. His body felt weak, and every time he tried to move, his body rebelled against him and made every part of him ache. He looked around dumbly, what had happened to him? Why was he here? How long was he asleep? He looked down to the end of his bed and the sleeping Germany, his Germany. He smiled weakly, just glad that his friend was there. "Germany, I know you're asleep and probably can't hear me, but I ha-had a horrible nightmare. You had left for war and I went after you, then everything became fuzzy. I thought I lost you!" Oh God Italy's throat hurt, his voice seemed to foreign to him. It was scratchy, dry, and it came out so quiet. Sleepily, Germany crawled into the bed next Italy, and it hurt him, but Italy moved so that Germany could have enough room, seeing as how the bed was so small.

"Italy…" Germany was so tired he didn't even realize that the thing he had been waiting months for, was finally there.

"Grazie Germany…" The Italian said before putting his head against Germany's chest. He wouldn't sleep, he knew that. He wasn't tired at all. So until Germany wakes up he will lay there, listening to his best friend's heartbeat, glad to have some sort of comfort through his confusion.


	2. Sad Alternative Ending

"So, this is it." Germany said quietly with a long, drawn out sigh, pulling a chair next to where Italy lay on the twin sized hospital bed. "Well, we lost to those damned Allies, this war is over now. I tried so hard to fight for you, to avenge what happened. I couldn't do it; I'm nothing but a failure, a damned failure." He clenched his fist and banged it on the bed, not really helping his anger ventilate. He stood up, and looked at Italy's calm face, huffing in irritation. "Damn it, why won't you wake up! Why can't you come back to me already! You're the only person left now to make me feel like I'm lower then the dirt on the ground." As he stood up, yelling loudly, he knocked the small wooden chair he was sitting in, over. "I have no one, no one is left. Everyone has abandoned us, mocked us. Everyone is gone, even our "good friend" Japan." To even mutter the other nations name made him feel sick to his stomach, it was a disgusting taste on the tip of his tongue. He scoffed thinking about his so called "friend". "You want to know what he said to me." He laughed a small and sad laugh. "Those words, when he said them, he lacked any emotion, yes I realize he _is_ Japan… but the way he said those words, he said them like I was the lowest life form on this entire planet.

"_I'm very sorry Germany, but no matter if you surrender or not, I will continue to fight. I see that you are taking the cowards way out and letting those western nations walk all over you.' _The apathetic country paused his almostrobotic speech, to gain a look of pure disgust onto his blank face, and as he spoke those next few lines, he practically spat them out at the German nation, who nearly chocked onto the venom._ 'You make me sick, you know that? I will never accept those western bastards invading my lifestyle, after how hard we have worked for this? You're a disgrace to the Axis, I do not care if you support this or not, I will continue this war, even if this means I have to finish it myself_."

Germany paused, nearly shaking from anger, but then, gaining this look on his face, a crooked smile that made him start to think, _maybe I truly have lost my mind_. "Japan also said a few other things; he talked about how it was my fault, all my fault, that you got injured. He told me how I was nothing more then an incompetent and uncaring Nazi. Now, why would he say that? I've come to find out I'm a very good actor, who would've guessed? I pretended that it didn't bother me. When I grieved, I did so alone, and in silence. I tried my hardest to not let anyone see how this truly was affecting me, you want to know why…because I needed to look and act strong. I still had pride, a pride that will never faultier." He placed his hand gently on Italy's face, caressing his cheek. "But you want to know a secret? It bothered me more then you could possibly imagine. He had no right to say those words." And that's when the nation started to laugh, truly laugh. When had he laughed like this before, probably never because this laugh was more of a madman's cackle. But why was he even laughing? He guesses it is because everyone else appears to be laughing. He'd been the butt of the joke since he lost the First World War, so why not finally give in to them and their laughter? He was a prideful nation, yes, but he was still a human. He had feelings, a brain, and a heart. A human can only take so much before they crack. And when they do, that's when the shards reveal that the complete picture was never that beautiful piece of art you had closely observed. Only until after everything is said and done, do you realize the flaws and imperfections about that person, and how truly ugly insanity can become.

"And the others, they whisper about it constantly. They talk and laugh, then look at me. As I pass by, they either have a look of disgust on their face, or smirk knowingly, and act as if they're superior to me." After talking for so long he finally got near to the point, he pulled out his 9mm handgun and cocked it, placing it onto the sheets, near Italy's foot, still smiling as if he were the most carefree man in the world. "Your brother was the worst of them all, he kept telling everyone how I was the only reason his other half was like this, a vegetable. Nothing more then a forgotten puzzle piece to the near complete picture of the world. I keep trying to tell myself that no, he's just saying that to be a dick, but after a while I realized it really was true. I am the reason you're like this. I truly am sorry for everything that has happened… I can only hope that you will somehow forgive me for this some day." He paused, and breathed out a shaky breath. He closed his eyes and began to think for a few seconds, think about all of the events that had led up to this. To be honest he had been thinking about doing this for awhile now, taking his own life. Maybe it would be best if Germany vanished, after all the pain and destruction his boss had caused throughout the war…all those lives that were ruined…because of him, Germany. He now sees that it was him…it was all him the entire time. He's become the true enemy, the real monster. Without his fellow Axis members, he felt so alone, so exposed. No one would miss Germany, he's nothing more then just that Nazi _bastard. _

He slowly picked up the gun. "Maybe Japan was right. After all this, everything we've went through, maybe we shouldn't give up." But those were empty words, what he was about to do, there was no going back. He had no other options left.

He looked at the sleeping nation, his best friend. "I really do love you, you know that?" He smiled, leaning down to kiss the Italian man on the forehead. He left his lips there though as he brought the barrel or the gun up to Italy's temple. "Ich liebe dich." He whispered into his forehead, lifting his lips slowly off of his forehead, pulling the trigger and letting a single tear fall out of his eye. Looking over at his friend again, he looks nearly unidentifiable, with all of the blood splatter and bits and pieces of his brain spewed everywhere. Even his happy Italians most identifiable trait, his curl, was no where to be seen. Again though, he smiled, he smiled because he could finally be with his best friend, and the only one who was left after the smoke had finally cleared. "I'm sorry it had to come to this, but just think, we'll be together soon enough." He laughed one last time before hearing the pounding of running feet nearly to the rooms door. "Perhaps everything did work out for the best, maybe now if I pull this trigger, I can wash my hands clean of the blood of those I have hurt. But of course, I would need to dirty my hands with my own blood first." He looked down at the white tiles of the ground, smiling and slowly watching his tears fall to the ground. _Finally_, was the last word he thought before hearing the door slam open, and pulling the trigger.


End file.
